Lightning
by Acajou Amarth
Summary: Draco is making his way through the battlefield, wounded, confused, half-dead. And what was the exact color of her eyes again? Oneshot. Dramione implied.


**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own nothing. **

**A/N: Hehe... Another oneshot... I just can't stop writing those... ENJOY! Tell me what you thought of it! ****Flamers are forced to eat a burned cookie! Urgh, where did that come from? :P**

**Warning: Character death + the usual cruelty that is war**

**Rated: M - I'd put it in T, but M is safer...**

**Lightning**

Curses were shooting through the air like lightning. Red, blue, green, yellow, one could make a fucking rainbow out of their colors. Yeah, sure, a rainbow. This was clearly paradise. Lightning stroke, people fell. Death was everywhere. He wasn't even sure who was on which side anymore. As a matter of fact, he was certain most of the duelling parties didn't even have the faintest idea whether they were dealing with friend or foe.

There was smoke all around and Draco fell over someone lying on the ground. Was whoever this was dead? Blood, more blood. There was so much blood... Bodies, disformed, disfigured. Hardly recognizable. Human? Death Eater or member of the Order? Muggle? Innocent? Young girl? Old man? Someone he knew from school? From dark 'celebrations'? Where was the difference?

He dragged himself back on his feet. Forced himself to ignore the blood streaming down his face, sticking his once so shiny and beautiful silver hair to his skull. He couldn't find himself caring about whose blood this was. Everything about him felt so numb and hurt so much at the same time, it might just as well be his. Part of it probably was. Pure Malfoy blood, mingling with dirt. Did it matter?

Screams, laughter, a howl of triumph. Or was it loss? The blood was dripping in his eyes, his ears... He couldn't think. Thinking had long ceises mattering. Everything was instinct, survival the only thing that seemed important... But was it really? It hurt so fucking much...

In the end, it all came down to breathing. And that, he was, wasn't he? Yeah, wasn't he? He couldn't tell, he didn't know. Confusion and pain and numbness and so much death... He'd never felt quite as old as he did at this moment. Mature, sure. Always. Grown up, of course. Years ago had he started exclaiming he was no child anymore. But wasn't he? Nineteen years. What did he know? What had he done with his time? Would anyone even remember him? Would there even be anyone left who might have stumbled across his name? He was so young, too young to feel so fucking old... And still young. A little kid. What was he doing fighting in a war?

Another curse hit him in his side. It was no deep wound, merely a little bit of flesh ripped from his body. Nothing compared to what he'd seen. Heard. Felt. The numbness was still there, preventing the pain from hitting him fully. Draco simply kept walking, his hands now pressed to his side, blood spilling over them, staining his once expensive robes.

He'd seen who'd cast the first spell on him. How her eyes had widened in horror realizing she'd just wounded someone she knew. It didn't matter that it was only him, that she'd despised him for so many years. That he was the enemy. She had seemed old as well. So old and so very young. But wasn't everyone these days? Eyes widened in horror. He didn't even really know their colour. All this time they'd spent in close proximity and he couldn't say for sure what colour her eyes were. Brown, he supposed. But was it a greenish brown, a light brown, a chocolate brown, a golden brown, a brown that almost resembled black? He could not tell.

She'd run away and left him lying on the ground. Yes, the blood on his head had to be his. Slices and slashes everywhere. Whatever had happened to stupefying people? Or a decent 'Avada'? When had the world turned into a place this cruel? Had he helped making it? And what the fuck was he doing here?

Draco found it harder to breathe. Apparently his injuries were finally getting through to him. But he didn't need more time. Only a few moer corpses to pass, a few more streams of blood... What was he running from anyway? Death? He was a coward. Where was good and evil? Where had his ideals gone? Why did even dying not seem so horrible at this moment?

Lightning and rain. The sound of thunder rolling, still far away. When had it started raining? Was it rain? Was it tears? Was he crying? Was that why his vision became even more blurry and the deep breath he took didn't quite reach his lungs? There was something hot running from or into his eyes, but that might just as well be blood. There was so much blood... But the lightning... The lightning was real. Blue, green, red, yellow, purple, pink, orange... Where had all the colors come from? Curses, lightning, rainbow. Paradise? Darkness.

Something heavy lay on him when he regained consciousness, but it was rolled off of him. Small hands on his neck, franticly searching a pulse. He groaned just so she knew he was alive. She. Was it even a 'she'? Felt like it... Her hands were sticky with what he assumed was blood. His own? Hers? Someone elses? She let out a sigh and he knew it was a 'she'. Was it a sigh of relief? Or was she sorry she'd have to kill him now?

He fought against the lead that had apparently decided to form a thick layer on his eyelids. Yes, it was a 'she'. It was _her_. Draco was strangely happy about that. No matter what she'd do to or for him now, if he died, he'd be remembered. She was alive and she'd remember him.

"Granger.", he whispered. His throat felt so raw he had to cough.

She simply nodded and he found what appeared to be tears on her cheeks. They wiped away the dried blood, the dirt that had robbed it of their rosy beauty. He rather liked it the path the salty water left.

"Malfoy...", she started, but he raised his heavy hand to stop her. It landed on her lips. They felt dry under his fingertips and he couldn't help but mourn at the memory of what they'd looked like when she'd spit insults at him. So red... Pulsating with life... Blood shooting through them and her rosy cheeks while she was angered, instead of blood covering them.

"Draco.", he stated, his voice trembling with the effort to stay conscious, to force any kind of sound out at all. It hurt... It hurt so fucking much... "My name is Draco."

She looked like she was about to break into a sob. He felt sorry for her.

"Draco.", she whispered. "Draco."

He smiled and caressed her cheek.

"Hermione."

Her brown eyes were almost black and they reflected the sky. He could have sworn he saw lightning when he died. Or was it a fucking rainbow?

* * *


End file.
